Homesick
by Beatrice Bhandal
Summary: Set the night before the beginning of Call of the Wild. Inspector Thatcher realises that Fraser is suffering from homesickness and resolves to help him.


Homesick

Constable Benton Fraser breathed deeply in his sleep. He felt his mother's presence very close as the familiar memory replayed. She leaned over him, filling his vision, and he felt the soft brush of her hair and inhaled her warm scent. She whispered some words of comfort, kissed him goodnight then gently tiptoed out singing softly to herself, her musical voice fading into a distant room. It was one of his most vivid memories of his mother and he treasured it dearly. But lately these memories had invaded his dreams. His mother's words of comfort sounded more cryptic and the whole scenario became the precursor to a swirling descent into confusion and anxiety that he could make no sense of. Tonight, he had felt a sense of foreboding as she whispered, "Stay strong my love—you'll know what to do," before humming the familiar, haunting tune. As her voice faded, an eerie silence ensued before it was broken suddenly by a sharp scream. Then Fraser found himself running down a Chicago street trying to locate the source of the sound. He ducked down sidewalks and alleyways becoming more and more disoriented. He knew he was dreaming because he was only ever lost in his dreams. But that knowledge didn't dispel his fear. He ran faster and faster until his vision swam, and he could hardly breathe. Then he was swallowed up by a cold, murky darkness and he felt he was sinking. Slowly he realised he was underwater and recalled that he had to rescue Ray from the trunk of a sinking car. He floundered with a crowbar to open the latch, but the car sank out of his reach. Ray was gone and it was his fault! In his panic, he gulped a lungful of water only to find it was not water after all but smoke, thick black smoke billowing around his burning apartment block! He coughed and wheezed trying to make his way to the staircase and check for survivors. The handrail turned to ash in his fingers and the floor collapsed beneath him. He was falling…

Meanwhile Inspector Margaret Thatcher instructed her taxi driver to stop off at the Consulate on her way home from an evening out. It was late, but she had some reports she wanted to read the next morning on the train. She found her early commute much more bearable if she had something useful to do. She instructed the driver to wait for her outside then unlocked and pushed open the heavy doors of the Consulate and keyed in her code to disarm the foyer security alarm. After retrieving the files from her office, she heard a curious thudding sound from the hallway that led to the back rooms of the Consulate. Fraser's room was back there she knew, but what would he be doing at one o'clock in the morning? She crept down the hall to investigate. Fraser's wolf Diefenbaker was sleeping soundly by the oil heater in the hall but awoke when she passed and followed behind her. Fraser's door was ajar, and she heard nothing for a moment but then again came the thudding and sounds like choking or laboured breathing. Then Fraser's voice called out in distress. Emboldened by Diefenbaker's presence she entered the room and switched on the desk lamp. Nothing was out of place. But Fraser, in his small bed by the wall, thrashed about in his sleep, obviously in the middle of a nightmare. She approached him cautiously so as not to be struck by his flailing limbs. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. She decided she had better wake him, so she grasped his shoulders and shook him, gently at first but then with increasing force. "Fraser, wake up, you're dreaming!" she entreated, then finally in desperation, she resorted to a commanding tone and yelled, "Constable Fraser, wake up!"

At this Fraser opened his eyes in alarm and immediately scrambled to attention standing straight against the wall. "Inspector," he responded almost automatically. Then slowly comprehending his surroundings in the cramped quarters he felt unbearably claustrophobic as if the very walls were closing in to suffocate him. Thatcher saw the look of a trapped animal in his eyes and realised with dismay that waking him had not lessened his anxiety. If anything, it appeared to have worsened. He clutched at the windowsill beside him and almost doubled over as he struggled to draw breath against the constricting feeling in his chest.

Thatcher recognised a panic attack when she saw one. She had suffered through a few herself during exam times back in her university days. "Try to take deep breaths," she murmured, a hand on his shoulder. Fraser gasped and fumbled with the window latch trying to open it. Though she could not imagine that the frigid night air could possibly improve things, she opened the latch for him and pushed the window open. Cold air gushed in and Fraser hung his head out the window breathing deeply in the cold clear night. He appeared to recover gradually until all of a sudden a loud whooping alarm sounded.

"Dammit," Thatcher swore. "I forgot about the window sensors. I'll go deactivate the alarm."

After taking care of the alarm system, Thatcher made her way back through the maze of hallways to Fraser's small office. She paused at the door and overheard him talking quietly to Diefenbaker.

"I'm okay Dief, it was just a dream. About my mother again, yes. It felt like she was trying to warn me of something…but then I was lost, falling…" There was a quiet barking sound from the wolf. "Oh, you think that's funny?" Fraser demanded. "Heartless creature," he muttered, "I'll have you know it was quite distressing."

Thatcher knocked on the half open door. "Constable Fraser?" she called, not wanting to barge in unexpectedly again.

He cleared his throat and called, "Come in!"

She entered the room which was now freezing cold due to the open window. Fraser had changed from his long johns to casual clothes and stood near the open window with Diefenbaker by his side.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

"Yes," he replied without meeting her gaze.

Thatcher pursed her lips. "I should apologise for intruding earlier," she said, "I only came by to collect some files. I hope I didn't make things worse?"

He met her eyes then. "No of course not," he assured, "It was just…just a dream."

"Well it seemed a little more than that," Thatcher noted.

"You can't fool her, Son," Bob Fraser interjected, appearing without warning from Fraser's closet. "She's bright and she knows you too well."

Fraser grimaced.

"You know," continued Thatcher oblivious to the ghostly presence, "in our line of work it's not uncommon to be affected by certain experiences. We do have a counselling service available for such occasions."

"Yes Sir, I'm aware of that," Fraser assured, "but this is something different." He looked wistfully out the open window then shook his head wearily and smoothed his eyebrow. "I don't know…"

"It's homesickness Son. That's what it is," Bob Fraser concluded. "I can't understand how you survived until now in this godforsaken place. It's as if it sucks the life right out of you."

"Homesickness…" Fraser mused.

Thatcher considered it too. "Well if that's the case," she sighed, "I suppose there's really only one cure." She was not immune to feeling homesick herself and he'd been here longer than she had. "I too feel I've done my time here in Chicago," she admitted. "You should know, I'm planning to take the next opportunity to transfer out—provided it's a promotion of course. In which case, I could certainly recommend you accompany me," she offered. She awaited a response, but he seemed to be a million miles away and she realised now that he had dressed for the outdoors in a padded jacket, jeans and hiking boots.

"You're going out?" she questioned in surprise.

He followed her gaze. "Oh, um, yes," he confirmed. "I'll just take a walk, get some fresh air."

Her brow furrowed as she studied him.

"You sound like a lunatic Son," Bob Fraser warned. "You can't just wander aimlessly in the middle of the night. You need a plan, a purpose. Tell her you're going fishing."

"I'm not going fishing," Fraser said. "That's ridiculous." Then noticing Thatcher's look of concern, he added, "Don't worry, I'll reactivate the security system."

"That's not what I was worried about." Thatcher said pointedly.

"Oh." Fraser winced with embarrassment, "You're worried about me?"

She pursed her lips again. "Could you at least give me a rough idea of where you're going? Just in case I need to find you before you return."

Fraser thought for a moment. He hadn't yet considered where he would go—he only knew he had to get out. "The parklands to the north bordering the reservoir," he decided.

Thatcher nodded slowly. It was quite a distance away, but she knew the place. "Okay," she said satisfied. "I'll see you in the morning. Good night Fraser."

"Good night Inspector."

As she rode home Inspector Thatcher puzzled over Fraser's behaviour of late. He had always had some odd quirks, but she felt he had become more troubled recently. She had never considered he might be homesick as she had believing him to be happily adapted to his Chicago life. Especially having such close ties at the local CPD precinct. He had even turned down a transfer last year in order to stay on in Chicago. Although, as she recalled it was a particularly undesirable posting. If he really wanted to return home, she resolved to try her best to get them both out of there. She also made a mental note to call Vecchio in the morning, the new replacement Vecchio that was. If Fraser wasn't back yet, she would send Vecchio to find him.


End file.
